The Other Woman

Fire crackling in mountains east of San Diego

Six months into our relationship, I realized I was “the other woman.” It wasn’t a title I ever thought I’d have, but the images posted by others solidified my suspicions. I guess I ignored the signs slowly rolling in like a red tide that everyone else avoids. I instead ran into those red tide waves, splashing about like an idiot in love. As surprising as it might sound, being the other woman was not how I became a villain.

You see, it all started when I met a guy named, Colter, on a group camping trip in the mountains east of San Diego, September 10, 2010.

The fire was crackling, and the air was rich with smoke and the scent of pine needles. Colter moved his camp chair next to mine and our conversation didn’t stop until we walked to our individual tents that night. We said good-night and smiled smiles that lingered until we woke. Then, things took a slight turn.

While making coffee over our friend’s camp stove, we set it on fire. The fire quickly slithered to the folding table beneath the stove. In the middle of the dry mountainside of California, we set a fire. Thankfully, I was surrounded by half a dozen Sailors, to include Colter, who were all sufficiently trained in putting out fires. Colter doesn’t much enjoy being reminded that he helped start the fire, but the sparks were definitely flying between the two of us.

In October of 2010 we began dating, and by December 2010 we were in a serious committed relationship. The two of us were no different from any other couple in that phase of their relationship. We both knew how the other’s past relationships had ended, or so I thought, and we were unafraid of embracing a relationship together.

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